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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300961">White Lie, Black Rose.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Music_compass/pseuds/Music_compass'>Music_compass</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Prince of Song~Route: Lovers Ending [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Uta no Prince-sama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, absolutely based some stuff on it, also this was based on like every single fluff fic of this pairing, at least it didnt take two years, ceshimyu is like, god i feel like i rushed on this, gods i love them, homebase is this prince and count, i can ship other characters with other characters but, i love all forms of art of course but, i love utapri and lemme tell ya, i'm sorry if you dont like it and if you want it taken down please dont hesitate to tell me, if you wrote a fluff fic of these two then i, im sorry i just got back into this fandom after like, it has a special place in my heart bc its the reason i started playing the violin and, just genuinely loving the musical arts, otp for me and idk why, several years, totally just jammin to non fiction and night dream this entire time ngl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:21:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Music_compass/pseuds/Music_compass</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two lords accidentally fall in love with one another, causing a rift in their ability to keep living the same life they have been--so they eventually give up and relent to their undying need to constantly ridicule each other--but this time, lovingly.</p><p>“What are we, now…?”</p><p>“What I want us to be.”</p><p>“Well… What do you want us to be?”</p><p>“What do you think?”</p><p>“…A mentor and his student?”</p><p>“Is that what you want?”</p><p>“It is what I think.”</p><p>“But is that what you want?”</p><p> ...“No.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aijima Cecil/Camus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Prince of Song~Route: Lovers Ending [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cecil: Northwind.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <b>It is unbelievably cold. </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">My usual outfit never works from the middle of fall until the crack of spring, but all I have are light clothes and a couple of thin jackets. The A-Class staple had handed me his hoodie to wear as I waited for him; I was planted to the exterior of a shop he immediately bounded to as he caught so much of a glimpse of it while we shopped in the city. It makes me joyful to see my companions in a state of euphoria—however, I could not even feel my nose as my body nearly gave in to the harsh, nighttime winds of autumn.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">…It reminds me of my superior.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">He is perfect in every sense of the word. The way his pale hands caress a blue rose in the garden, casually brushing over thorns… The way his platinum blond locks shimmer in the wind as if they were the wind itself… The way his icy blue eyes freeze anything and anyone he so much glances at… The way his subdued pink—almost lavender—lips curl up into a smile… The way his soft voice wraps you in satin as you hold a warm drink in your hands…</p><p class="p3">Yes, he is perfect. He is the idol everyone wants to meet. He is the type of person you want to bring home to your parents—as I have heard a lady whisper to her friend beside a mail chute as he stepped out of a luxurious buffet, being cornered by a flurry of women, desperate for his affection. I was thankful for the attention gravitating towards him and not myself.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">I personally never felt infatuated with him. Of course, I would be lying if I even uttered the whisper that he was unattractive, or that I have not felt his milky aura and felt drawn to him. I have, really. But… falling in love with him? I would have never even considered the possibility—especially after I found out what he truly was like.</p><p class="p3">He was a blizzard in the middle of the mountains, with no shelter to hide in. He had the curtness of a recently-bought feline, and the claws to match—not literally, of course; his hands were always carefully trimmed and filed. He had the grace to show his seemingly unattainable status, complete with insults on the side, like a bitter salad that comes with your elegantly flavored steak.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">He was intimidating, to say the absolute least. Sometimes, I feel his gaze piercing my back, despite him not being present in the room with me, or being even remotely close to me.</p><p class="p3">Though, for this occasion, he really was here.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">His gaze shifted toward me with the most benevolence I have ever felt from him, complete with a wave. My chest skipped a couple of beats as I was caught staring with complete disregard that I looked like a common customer outside a store, waiting for someone to finish with their shopping needs. …Not that I was not.</p><p class="p3">My eyes darted for a fleeting moment out of embarrassment, then quickly spotted him again, only for him to be finished with talking to the loud party of fans at his feet… and for him to be waltzing towards me with the same pompous air he has when around the other idols at Shining Agency. I wonder if there is something else that never changes…</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">...Before I knew it, his tall stature painted over me with dominance as he bore a hole into my cheekbone with his glaring icicles.</p><p class="p3">“You’re cold, aren’t you?” He asked—with more of a demand for an answer in compliance than a real, well thought ruse. “You’ll get sick, and that won’t look good for any of us.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">I lowered my gaze, but kept a firm pressure in my heart. Somehow, that anger kept me warm, even when around him.</p><p class="p3">“I suppose.” I whispered; it was all I could muster as a burning sensation in my throat hindered my ability to come up with an acceptable response. It frustrated me.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“We’re going home. <em>Now.</em>” He raised his head to look down upon me—I suppose. It was not difficult for him to do so, but if he did not want me to look at him back in the eyes and instead give me a better look at his elegant jawline, his attempt was commendable.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“But, I am waiting for Otoya.” I rebutted. I managed to raise my own head to get a better look at the resent that continued to grow in his previously pleasing eyes. It seemed quite obvious that he did not like others to detract from his wishes, but everyone already knew that—everyone but the outside.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“If you catch a cold, it’ll also be my fault.” He scoffed, and turned his back on me, like a wall. “We’re leaving.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">I sighed, and proceeded to phone the scarlet-haired male as I walked further away from my main goal, with the leash of a mentor I had. I really did feel awful—a pit was growing in my stomach from the company I could have provided and been provided with from one of my best friends, but instead have left him to walk alone in the cold. I could never be able to stand such a thing, but I was blessed from the Muses as he forgave me and wished me a safe trip home. I wished him a good night, and he reciprocated it with a warm voice. It was the only thing keeping my spirit up during that entire walk home.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">. . .</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Hurry and eat, so you can take a shower.” My mentor loomed over me as I set down my belongings by the door, decorated with my friend’s hoodie over it.</p><p class="p3">“You already ate?” I asked, just out of habit rather than actual concern, but I never feigned the feeling. However, I pretended not to recall our first meeting a few minutes prior, along the city concrete.</p><p class="p3">“Of course.” He straightly responded, and swiftly brushed past me. I felt a gentle breeze rest on my neck as a part of his scarf caressed my shoulder. Kindness was never his forte, and I knew it was only I who had felt the kind aura, but a part of me wanted to believe that he intended for his hand to stroke my arm, rather than an article of clothing. If only.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">…A somewhat damp cloth sleeps on my shoulders as I step out of the humid chamber I had bathed in, with pure droplets pooling at the base of the tub, trailing to the door. Wearing only short pants and a loose, white tank top, I attempted to sneak into the kitchen to hydrate myself before I collapse from how lightheaded I was. Unfortunately, there was my mentor, fiddling with his glasses and analyzing his schedule book as if it was an enthralling romance.</p><p class="p3">He stood with his back to the wall of the kitchen entrance, as if he was waiting, which he was. He never did anything unnecessary, unless it was nitpicking at how I so much breathed.</p><p class="p3">As he took a deep breath and let the agenda fall to hit his thigh, I stepped back in an effort to escape. Unfortunately, his voice wrapped me back into the situation—though, I guess it was not so difficult to do so. I had little room to walk anywhere when he was near.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“You should get to bed.” My seemingly cold superior grumbled, barely attempting to make eye contact with me. I suppose if you had the position of a count, you really would not require a minuscule action for others to follow suit. Though, as my position as prince, I felt a slight reluctance.</p><p class="p3">“Why?” I asked, messing with the towel still around my shoulders, “I sleep at a later time.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">This time, he pushed himself off of the wall and glared at me. He set the fancy, leatherback schedule on the glossed table with care and sighed.</p><p class="p3">“I have a test for you tomorrow, and you need to take up early.” He took off his glasses to slip them into a case that lay near his journal.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">The only thing I had in my mind at that given moment was what he was planning to do with me that early in the morning. A sense of dread with a tiny spice of fear had covered the atmosphere in the room, weighing it down and pushing into my chest.</p><p class="p3">“Where are we going?” I inquired.</p><p class="p3">“I’m not going to tell you that.” He barely gave an answer.</p><p class="p3">“What is the test?” I asked another question to him, attempting to finding even a slight idea of what I was headed towards the following day.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">This caused him to fall into a serene silence for a moment. He turned his head to the side as he answered me, making me uneasy. It was unclear if that was the intention or not, but it certainly gave me a slight panic.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“To see how well you can lie.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">…The morning was crisp, and the break of dawn was apparent. Glorious hues coated the sky—many shades of red and blue swam over us as I struggled to keep my eyes open. The dissonant clashes of oranges and dark purples hit a familiar tune to me, with a loop of our—Starish’s—last performed ensemble ringing in my head as I walked to the beat of an inaudible song. I felt as if my mentor was judging me, but he was the only one close enough to me to do so.</p><p class="p3">The fresh autumnal air constantly pinched at the back of my neck, reminding me to stay awake, despite the warm comfort of my formalwear. It obviously had little effect.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">We luckily took the option to walk, seeming as the city was rather quiet at this time. Not being mobbed by a cluster of overwhelming fans is a nice way to start the busy mornings.</p><p class="p3">My heart felt still and tranquil for once around the commanding count, without his condescending remarks every few seconds. I truly felt that we were at a farce, being equally silent for fear that one off-set sniffle could ruin the balance of our common ground of our mutual distaste for each other. That tipping of the scales is something I never want to see.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">The location of my test appeared to be a humble business building. Though humble as it be, many layers stacked on top of one another, with different shades of red coating the bricks—supposedly from repeatedly renovating and adding new floors every time an inconvenience was apparent.</p><p class="p3">Whatever the reason was, I found myself being dragged from the concrete outside to the third floor of the large building. However blurred my sight was, I was never more than a breath away from reaching the taller man in front of me—in fact, he seemed to halt his rush as we travelled up the stairs in the echoing, humid hallway. I merely followed my mentor, resulting in me hardly noticing that the elevators have seemingly been taped off for a reason. I wanted to ask, but I preferred the silence, despite my throat nearing being breathed dry.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">As fast as I could make out the destination, his pale hand pushed against the equally cold steel beam that unhinged the door. Did a rush of ice gently grace the metal? Perhaps, but I had no moment to ask as I was urged to join my mentor in a seemingly comfortable lounge chair—complete with two plump cushions. In fact, I think it was him that questioned my sudden stillness, still unable to see much. No matter how aware I was of our whereabouts, it would not bother to aid in waking me up any more than the cold wind did. I was rather grateful for the cool breeze coming in from the ceiling vent, though.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Aijima?” Ah. I had forgotten that my mentor had an alternate presence in the public eye. It stirred a sense of annoyance from within my chest; weakened from my lack of a functioning body, in my current state.</p><p class="p3">As I—attempted—a dainty sit on the heavily padded seat, I raised my back to avoid any eyes wondering if I was not feeling well. I was completely fine, in fact—but the underlying fire that began to rest under my chest made me question my own health. How could that one calling of my name tear apart a hole in me? Did I harbor that much resent for my own mentor?</p><p class="p3">…I refuse to be so immature. At least, not when cameras began to roll with a call from the director and a hearty click from the main device that lay in the center of the rather large room. I would attempt to stay enveloped in the atmosphere, but being entranced in your own thoughts certainly carried time a far distance.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">That was to be the case, until they called out a question for both of us. Had I really missed the introduction? I hoped that I did not look as if I was a floating corpse.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“To the both of you—“ The woman I was unaware of that sat simultaneously in front and beside me in a separate chair of her own began to speak. I was relieved that her voice was loud enough to keep me awake, but not loud enough to shatter the sense of flimsy peace I had. “How does it feel being in a teacher-student relationship? Does that affect a lot of how you live, or not a lot—or not at all?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">How nerve-wracking that such a loaded question was handed to us for the first one. It unnerved me for the rest to come.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Aijima,” The mirage of my mentor called, “How about I give you this one, first?” His well-crafted painting of a smile had no faults to it. His voice mirrored buttermilk in the way his intonation swirled in perfectly shaped circles. Had I not known him, I perhaps would have enjoyed us living with one another.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Lie. I forgot I had to lie. But did I have to? What if this is my one chance to show his secret to the world—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“O-of course! Thank you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">…Something—my heart or the Muses—told me to lie; to not release his true face to the public. I wonder why. My voice caught in my throat and my chest started to quiver. Lying has never been a characteristic of mine. I never liked it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Well,” I began, attempting to cog a convincing tale from the depths of my imagination, “It can get a little difficult.” I struggled a laugh.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“…But, he is overall a kind person. He may be tough on me, but I learn so much from him as a result.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">I felt stiff. I know I was. My hands shook, but I kept them resting atop my lap—the only still part on my body. Despite the pressure I felt, however, I turned to look at my senior, who was giving me a look as mixed as our motifs when we clash words to one another.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Thank you for being there.” I managed to choke out. I attempted a smile; quite certain that it was rushed and sloppy, but it was a smile.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">...He smiled back and gently brushed a cold hand on my shoulder. He almost seemed lifeless, but his expressions were the complete opposite. His face flushed a sprinkled pink as he spoke in a smooth, unnatural lull. His words were empty—what if that is what I felt when he touched me…?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Do you really feel that way?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"><em>No.</em> “Of course I do!” A stifled chuckle fell from my lips, as if by habit.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Thank you, Aijima.” He whispered, soothing my nerves a little, even if they were just ushers of fake gratitude. “Though, I feel the same way.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"><em>Liar.</em> “You do?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Of course. It’s not only up to the older idols to instruct and criticize—it’s important that we learn as well. You’ve taught me quite a bit, yourself.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"><em>Liar.</em> “About what?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Being kind. Learning how to care for others. It’s really been a ride with you—yes, we disagree quite a bit, but I learn more about you as a result.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Part of me wished it was true. Part of me believed that for a slipping moment in time. Part of me wanted it. The other part of me welled with anger and wanted to punch him—but I would never do that to anyone. At least, I hope I stay that way.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Oh!” I exclaimed in blank surprise and covered my mouth with a shivering hand—my middle finger just barely touching my bottom lip. “I never knew! Well… I hope to ensure more growth together.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Certainly.” He had his own empty-ended chuckle fit of his own. “But you can always tell me when you need a break. It’s not good to strain. Understand me?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Y-yes.” I gulped and leapt for a high ground. “But—please do not go easy on me. If you want me to grow, I would like a challenge.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">My upperclassman’s expression morphed from concern to a hybrid of surprise and pride.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“If you insist.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">…The rest of the interview went rather smoothly—at least, smoother than expected from someone who despises lying with as much passion as his mentor adores pastries.</p><p class="p3">With a couple of exchanged looks of mutual--but false—respect for one another, nearly resembling a swirl of pale blue hospitality and pastel lime adoration, we finished the interview. The director supposedly was surprised of how well I acted in front of the public, seeming as he has only heard of me from my superior and has never really seen me. That all boiled down to how dangerous I was feeling that day.</p><p class="p3">Often throughout the shooting, I pressed my coach with remarks that hit his real personality, but I never managed to topple his ground. It was obvious that I was outmatched, with him being towering over me in both height and the ability to create an illusion of himself as a kinder man—a man that not only I want him to be. I often wondered when he started this alternate image, and how long it took for him to master such a heinous act. Despite it being so, I cannot feign respect for it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“You better watch yourself.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">…Was all I got from him during the walk back to our room. Somehow, I felt a sense of pride swelling within my chest as he glanced at me a disgruntled and—vaguely—anxious look. I took it as a proposal of a challenge rather than a heed of caution.</p><p class="p3">Do not think that I ignored his warning; in fact, I planted it within me as I made it my goal to one day expose his true self to the unassuming eyes of fans and the overall public.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">“Of course.”</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Camus: Melting of Snow.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Count Camus is absolutely bad at counting his tempo.</p><p>He gets outed by Reiji.</p><p>That's gotta hurt.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <b>Two months have passed since then.</b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A gentle envelopment from a couch does wonders on a person’s roughed body.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Posture seemed to fade from my trail of thought as the cushions embraced me. I picked at the buttons that decorated the cuffs of my button-up shirt as a heavy sigh escaped my strained throat. What I wouldn’t give to drink a steaming cup of breakfast tea in this current moment… I’d gladly give away Aijima.</p><p class="p1">…Or, at least, that is how I felt a until couple of months prior. Now I’d only give away Kotobuki. Or perhaps Kurosaki.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Many accounts of Aijima and I being aired included in a multitude of interviews—if I hadn’t written them down upon an agenda, I wouldn’t be able to count them. Not because I’d forgotten, of course, but because the meetings often left us tired—on one occasion, both of us collapsed at the dining table. Thank the Queen that we had hardly anything to do the next day; if not, the others might’ve suspected foul play within the linings of our schedules. The second to last accusation I want on my name is being an underperforming upperclassman.</p><p class="p1">The last accusation I want on my name is being associated with Aijima’s antics. That—I could only infer—was only heading towards a true appearance, however.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">During our time together being spent almost exclusively on broadcasts, we almost forgot about how we should act when around one another in private. To an extent, at least.</p><p class="p1">When Aijima would scrunch his nose at an unfamiliar word in a script, I would habitually brush his shoulder. In return, when I were to pull my bangs back when studying my schedule, Aijima would ask if I was alright—to which I would unintentionally lie with a response of reassurance. When he would mumble, forget to breathe during long notes and phrases, or forget to write in parts to review with a pencil he forgot to bring, I would often catch myself from saying anything obvious—replacing supposedly harsh remarks with questions of concern. When I were to let out a sigh, he would ask if I wanted a glass of milk; I would almost never object, even though I disliked the plain taste. When he would fall asleep on the couch, I’d place the blanket over him—I hold back offering him a good night for fear he would hear me and mock me for weeks. When I were to walk too fast, he’d grab my scarf and—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>Stop it. </em>Stop it right this instant. I hate you. I’ve always hated you, and I always will hate you. Nothing will change. Nothing will convince me otherwise. Nothing. <em>Nothing. Nothing… Nothing…</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…Then why is it that my heart won’t stop pounding in my ears…?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>I don’t need you. I won’t </em> <b> <em>ever</em> </b> <em> need you. </em> <b> <em>Get out.</em> </b> <em> Stop touching me. Let go of me. </em> <b> <em>Let go of me. Let—</em> </b></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“—go of me—Let go of me!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Myu?” Rushed footsteps sounded on wooden boards, then a hand tugged at the black dress jacket that lay across me, acting as a makeshift blanket. I jumped at the sudden contact, but the sudden panic I felt couldn’t match that of when <em>he</em> was the culprit.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Hey, what happened?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Bad dream, I guess.” I sat up and ran a hand through my hair—<em>wet. </em>What really did I fear? I had no reason to feel afraid of anything, so why did I…?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What time is it?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Eh, around 5PM.” Kotobuki shrugged.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Ah…” I sighed heavily once more. When I reached for the arm of the padded couch that my head was lying upon to help myself stand up, my eyes met with a Kotobuki with a mature aura—something I resented to see, despite him being the oldest idol in the company. Someone has to keep the air level in this complex, by balancing our serious endeavors with the shaking of his maracas. Though, with a look as stern as the one he currently glared at me with as he trapped me on the loveseat, he looked as if he played a liable instrument. Almost.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Tell me, Myu.” He started, once more losing my respect for him, though his expression didn’t bother to change. In fact, the blazing of his forest brown eyes stung a little deeper into my skin. “You’ve been out a lot, lately.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m busy.” I truthfully answered, attempting to push the bratty senior off of me. Rather than feeling intimidated, I felt only annoyed. Though, I was thankful for him unintentionally stalling my time away from me returning to my student. Had I returned immediately upon awakening from that dream, I would’ve…</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I get that much.” The brunet sighed, then stood up, no longer entrapping me further; a strange pressure still lasted along my arms and chest.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Then what’s the point?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You seem different.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Different? How?”</p><p class="p1"><br/>“Well…”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A silence stayed atop the tip of his tongue. Then he clicked it away.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Recently, you’re more flexible in showing emotions.” He hummed a sweet tune for himself, but a bitter one for me. “Like, you just seem happier.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I do? Where? When do I show any signs of emotion? And towards what? A freshly brewed cup of tea? That’s the most likely reason I’d smile—besides cake. A complete tea time meal, if you ask me.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Garnering no response from me, the peasant of a senior began to pace around, tapping his right index finger to his lips as he sang a sloppily stitched-together song that spilled from his mouth. To him it might’ve sounded like a brilliant motif, but to my ears it sounded like a poorly remembered version of “KILLER KISS”. What a laugh.</p><p class="p1">I would be lying if I said that I thought the song a wretched piece of music. Of course, it was rather distasteful—all songs with Kotobuki in it are—but it was never a spunky tune I disliked. An upbeat foil to the duet that Mikaze and Kurasaki had—someone had to do it, and we were the only ones left. It’s not a tune I disagree with, despite there being no option for us to deliberately decide on a genre of music ourselves. If we had, it might’ve been at least a year before the album was released—but that’s only by my accord. I wonder what would’ve happened had we picked a style together. Nothing well could come of it, I know that much, but there’s a part of me that wished to see what wondrous disaster awaited us in the realm of cooperation.</p><p class="p1">What even would match us both? The only style we have in common is both of us sounding equally out of place in a heavy metal discourse. What a way to start a party, isn’t it—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Have you finally found a girl to interest yourself in?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">What?</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p1"> <em>What?</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…<b><em>What?</em></b></p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">As I could hear Kurosaki yelling—<em>What fresh shit is this?</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“A girl?” I asked,uncomfortably slipping on the couch. “Don’t make me laugh.” No—<em>where did that even come from?</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Oh, c’mon, Myu.” Kotobuki scoffed, stopping in the center of the room to point his sullied finger in my general direction. “Not even you could hide that look, huh?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…Ah. My face felt as if it was being warmed from the steam of a new brew, complete with three cubes of sugar to run smoothly down my throat, tickling it. A certain tingle grew from the bottom side of my tongue, hardly after the absence of a milky mousse had fulfilled a nice 3PM bite.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A hand latched onto the crevice that tore at my chest; I felt the beating pile of muscle lose a crystalline shard from its coated exterior, sending a shiver through my body. Oddly enough, this wasn’t the only occurrence of my body beginning to warm—though, just because I had felt this before, it doesn’t mean that I’m any more used to this as I was when it crashed through my body the first time.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…The early September breeze scratched at my junior’s usually chipper expression, making him scrunch his nose, even as we were in the heated blanket that was our room. An interview nearly ripped holes along my vocal chords, despite it easy to defile the private image of my natural voice. The cat-like underclassman of mine huffed and found a seat to curl in on himself with, at the dining table; he kept his rather light, lesser cardigan on. I often wondered why he never had a heavier overcoat than that of a parka, despite him being so sensitive to temperature changes—even susceptible to horrid colds in between the shifting of the Earth’s axis.</p><p class="p1">I couldn’t remember exactly what he asked me, but he complained about how I made him leave his half-brother to walk home in the cold, alone. It wasn’t my fault that I managed to save my junior before he started to sniffle his practice sessions away, but it was hard to pretend to care.</p><p class="p1">I often ask myself how I managed to lie in front of Aijima. To truly care is one ability—to feign it is another. As for myself, I knew which I felt more prominently. Having a sick roommate is a true annoyance—especially if there’s barely any rooms to hide from them in—but, there indeed was a part of me that hid the certain reluctance to hear his sickly screeches from within his side of the abode. Something about the way he groans after a particularly violent coughing fit… it pinches at my own throat, and it may just be more than a sympathetic feeling of recollecting that pain.</p><p class="p1">I wouldn’t prefer waiting for an acquaintance over being healthy. Perhaps it was the opposing view he had that made my heart quiver, or the specific person he was waiting for, and his pout of reluctance to leave his dear comrade by his lonesome to make it back to the dorms in the frigid temperatures. I would much rather pick the former option, but I gave myself the time to think about the latter.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…Ever since I began to think about other paths, the truer my actions were. I hid my habits to Aijima even less than I did when I was within the walls of Quartet Night’s meeting place quarters. I started to relax more on cameras--not to the point of showing my true face, but I felt a weight off my shoulders when I was with him. I was never sure why.</p><p class="p1">The more we talked on camera with and about one another, his once-stiff lies began to meld into realistic, yet mystical fantasies about our life together. Some unthawed continent in my heart wished for those exquisite tales to be true. Maybe if thawed, it would be.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The hand pawing constantly at the entrance of my chest began to scratch harder, softening it. Before I knew it, the entirety of my being felt as if being set on fire. My face burned a scarlet while my hands were stained a faint ruby. An echo of an entire orchestra repeating one bar of a chord—played in martellato—struck my ears and every vein within me. I couldn’t tell what was happening. I wasn’t living a nightmare—it was too warm and rendered me unresponsive—but I wasn’t locked in a dream. No—a dream would be pleasant; the winter breeze pressing up against my neck, the sunlight radiant but not harsh, a warm hand within mine…</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>It’s not a girl I’m interested in. It’s not a girl I want. But I’m </em> <b> <em>afraid.</em> </b></p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>  <em>How amusing.</em> </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I poorly attempted to hide my face, turning it to the left and lowering my head.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“C’mon, you can tell me!” Kotobuki gave a forced chuckle, “Besides, if there’s anyone to ask about love, it’s me.”</p><p class="p1">“Are you sure about that?” I barely manage to choke out. “You’d tell anyone within a 7 meter radius.”</p><p class="p1">“Aw, please? It looks like it’s eaten you up!” <em>You’re not even going to omit that?</em></p><p class="p1">“No.”</p><p class="p1">“Your face already tells me I’m right. So just spill who it is, already!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…That is true. Though I know I shouldn’t give in, I know I’ve lost for a while. I shouldn’t believe him. I shouldn’t tell him—not only will it make it seem like I trust him, I could only imagine the ridicule I’ll receive from the others, knowing that word spreads fast with fools like this man-baby around. Besides, Aijima already has fallen for our composer—most everyone has.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But, even though I realized a long while ago that whatever nonsense I feel won’t be reciprocated, something within tells me not to resign from experiencing it. That same, unrelenting cold speck on my heart. I still can’t tell what it is, nor do I think I’ll ever be able to, but what door would open if I just manage to thaw it…?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…I’ll tell you on one condition.” <em>Wait, what the hell am I doing? Did everything I had planned mean nothing? </em>I stood up from the relatively comfortable couch I was visibly slipping off of. “Don’t call me ‘Myu’ for a month.”</p><p class="p1">Amusement danced around my lips as the eldest idol’s expression twisted into a tight bowline knot of malcontent, curiosity, and pride. At this point, he could have any other emotion mixed in and I wouldn’t be able to forge surprise.</p><p class="p1">“Fiiiiiiiiine.” He then snickered, “So, tell me, <em>Camus</em>!”</p><p class="p1">…I admit, I was a bit taken aback. <em>When was the last time I heard him say my name?</em> Well, in any case, I supposed that I should tell him. Just because I lie well doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least keep my word—besides, I travelled too far down an unbeaten path for me to go back.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I attempted to steady my nearly-thawed heart with a deep breath—which only made it worse. With whatever instinct I had trapped in my mouth, I nearly ran over my words.</p><p class="p1">“It’s not a woman I’m interested in.” <em>But rather…</em> “It’s A—“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Woah, wait—it’s not a lady? So you were—”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> <em> Kotobuki, are you serious? Do you want to know or not?</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Sorry.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I sighed again, relieved that the abrupt stop of the current tempo in my blood derailed me from the issue at hand, however much it nearly caused a malfunction of my entire being. I collected myself once more.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Aijima.” I muttered.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The thumping in my ears sped up to the point where I could hardly hear Kotobuki hum, cognizant of what I had just quietly confessed to him and…</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I figured, to be completely honest. We all did.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…the other half of Quartet Night, who appeared from behind the couch. I pretended to not be surprised, but even then, I should’ve known.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“We joked about it at first.” Kurosaki rubbed the back of his head, darting his eyes to whatever dots he could count on the ceiling. “—But then stuff started to make too much sense.” He cocked his head towards the aquamarine-haired, synthetic idol.</p><p class="p1">Mikaze nodded, gently holding his chin with one hand while the other held his elbow. “Your usual movements started to shift.” He closed his eyes. “A subtle laugh while looking at your phone, or a slightly dazed look at times… But what really set it off was how often you were away, and how long you were away for.” A thinly lined smile tugged at his rubber mouth, coupled with a cynical scoff, as if noting how obvious it was.</p><p class="p1">“It wouldn’t have been as suspicious… If Syo hadn’t texted me how often Cecil doesn’t join the rest of Starish for dinners anymore, as much as he used to. And if you don’t know what happened to him, no one else would.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ah. I guess suspicions would fall onto the closest person if a social butterfly were to cease communication for whatever reason. I hope they sincerely understand that it wasn’t entirely my fault that he’s been missing from big gatherings, but I suppose that swaying anyone—especially his close friends—would be extremely difficult in this case. All of the evidence points to me—and, who am I to judge their thinking? Not even a clever defense could get me off the hook at this rate.</p><p class="p1">…That isn’t to say that I’m not guilty, however.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“So what?” I sighed, clawing a hand through my hands to pull my bangs back. “Now you know. What next?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A mutual silence plastered itself along the large windows, darkening the already maroon scenery of the evening. A somewhat bleak expression found a home on all of our faces—except for on one person.</p><p class="p1">“Why not tell him?” Mikaze drearily suggested, putting a hand in a pocket of his baggy pants. “Keeping a heavy secret to yourself will never turn out well.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>I know that. I know that all too well, but that doesn’t it make it easier to tell anyone.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A raging storm built in my chest, clouding my better judgement. I was almost offended at the daring suggestion to inform the latter end of my complicated emotions of how I felt of him, but my reluctance to show any remotely false part of me to those I’m constantly near causes me to rapidly switch between wanting to tell and wanting to keep my mouth shut. At this point, the ice beneath my feet really has become thin.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Don’t mock me.” I responded; a lack of words becoming apparent.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That was the opposite intention.” The youngest idol furrowed his brows and crossed his arms, cocking his hip to the side. “I’m sure you were aware of that. I’m trying to help you. What is there to gain from locking all of this up, now that you’ve told us?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Nothing, I suppose.”<em> The relief of the feeling of rejection? The freedom from constant ridicule? The avoidance of falling from whatever point I’ve reached in my partnership with my underclassman? The glory of knowing that Shining wouldn’t know about this and I won’t be utterly kicked out from the company because of the insolence that was the act of telling someone? Any of these points at all?</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“See?” Kotobuki sneered with his usual demeanor. “Everything’ll be fine! I’m sure he’ll understand, even if he completely rejects you.”</p><p class="p1">“Reiji.” Mikaze made an annoyed expression—then again, who doesn’t make one at Kotobuki at least once in their lives?</p><p class="p1">Kurosaki rolled his eyes and forced out an exaggerated sigh. “Love is a big factor of why Aijima’s here. I doubt he’ll think it’s normal that you’re all over him, but he’ll definitely get why.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…As much as I wanted to freeze the entire room and the heterochromatic idol’s tongue so it sticks to the roof of his mouth and give him a brain-freeze, I found it impossible to disagree.</p><p class="p1">It became marginally difficult to keep away from my own student, but I hated to admit it. The entire situation was just as confusing to me as to anyone else, however; our first impressions of one another were extremely strained, and it’s been quite a few years since we first met… So why is it now that unidentified emotions were beginning to surface? Unless they’ve been hiding underneath the sheet of ice around my heart for this long… A part of me wanted it to be true.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The downbeat in my ears had become less severe, because of them.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I attempted a gratuitous grimace as I bounded for the door, tripping over the smooth tile of the hallway; I barely made out the last words I heard from the rest of Quartet Night for that evening—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Uhhh… What just happened? Did I say something?”</p><p class="p1">“Pay him no mind, Ranran. I’m sure his heart’s made the decision for him instead of his brain!”</p><p class="p1">“He had any of those?”</p><p class="p1">“You can hardly talk.”</p><p class="p1">“Ai-Ai, no!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…The only echo I need right now is the tempo at which I’ve started to run.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">What am I doing—chasing an impossible outcome? What am I doing—following instinct rather than reason? This isn’t fiction. This isn’t a script for a dastardly cheesy romance musical.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">This is non-fiction. This is real. This is as real as the doorknob I grip and twist in my hand. This is as real as the fresh face of pure surprise and confusion when I burst into our shared room. This is as real as the burning in my throat when I can’t get the words out. This as real as—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m no longer going to call you ‘Aijima’.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> <em>Wait, </em> <b> <em>what.</em> </b></p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This one seemed kinda rushed. sorry for the pacing in this one, lol.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Cecil: Non-Fiction.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A bit more of a serious chapter.</p><p>The two are conflicted about one another, but both are scared...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">   “What?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I felt as if a gong had planted itself into my heart, repeatedly bashing against my ribcage as my superior subtly gave himself an order of what to call me. I had no objections, but what had permitted the sudden change? And why was he back so late, when I had already eaten a light meal with my teammates?</p><p class="p1">I admit to a crime; I had peered through his leatherback notebook that he had left behind to check what event or meeting he had scheduled for today, but nothing of the sort was written. Perhaps he knew he was to leave it behind, only for me to skim over it out of concern—he was rather knowledgable when it came down to being able to predict my habits. Did he intentionally leave it blank to keep his privacy? Then why did he leave it behind if he knew I had a strange gesture of showing worry, even if it meant invading his secrets?</p><p class="p1">I hardly think he bothers to care, but I, too, have things I could only wish to know about him. It is unfair how he can read me like an open book in his native language, but I cannot do the same for him? He seems outwardly truthful when it comes to showing any signs of… any emotion, but I can only hope to infer his thoughts. It leaves me severely unaware of what he goes through on a daily basis if he never tells me—and I wish to understand why he persists in staying so distant from me.</p><p class="p1">Perhaps it is because emotion is something he has a master of. Perhaps it <em>is</em> his native language, hence why he can read me, but I cannot. I know what auras others can emit, but the only ones I can feel from my own roommate is that of a frosty solace, frigid annoyance, and mere fragments of his true heart shining through his decorated exterior. Perhaps he wants me to read those fragments, however fleeting they may be. Perhaps he wants to tell me many things, but words are not what he has a hold of, despite his public persona having a perfected air to it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Cecil.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Wh…” I gasped, unable to find a valid word in the correct tempo needed to respond to him. A spot in my chest retracted and released, sending a burst of sudden air through my windpipe—all while an abrupt ripple of blood filled the color in my face, though I was not entirely too sure if it was visible to him.</p><p class="p1">I gripped at the flap on the left side of my parka with two hands, attempting to hide the ever-speeding beat of my internal metronome. A multitude of songs I have recorded and performed possibly matched the timer that ticked inside of my chest, but I could only see the frozen-over, glazed blue of my upperclassman invade such a space in my head.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What?” He started, stepping towards me with a magnificent amount of intimidation, “Are you not going to call my name back?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What—oh…” I had debated whether or not he was ever going me a reason as to why he spontaneously decided to differentiate in what he would label me as. Out of the pool of names he had locked away, my own first name is something that I refused to believe he would call me. It seemed irrational for him to start, now. I wondered if it was a jest, or if he lost a bet with someone in Quartet Night. …I could not tell you why I had expected a genuinely amusing answer.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Ca—“ I halted myself. It could be another test; if I overstep, I might be admonished for addressing my superior in such a disrespectful fashion.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Did you forget my name?” He scoffed in a teasing tone, but it had a rather violent, insulted underlay—almost like his pale, fair skin harbors a delicately placed layer of pastel pink beneath it, accenting the tip of his nose and jowl well when the temperatures begin to lean towards his likeness.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I squinted at him, no longer gripping onto my the zips of my jacket as if I was hanging onto a ledge.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Is this another test of yours?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A raised eyebrow pointed in my face, as if obvious that it was not a trial to test my manners. I was unsure how to respond once his arms crossed in front of him, besides to follow his longstanding, rather underhanded order.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…Camus…?” I muttered and forced myself to shrink my posture; a cog of uncertainty starting to run within my stomach, rusting my throat and slowly slipping it closed. For a ripple in time, I nearly expected to lose what minuscule portion of a course I had eaten with Starish—if I had, would I have simultaneously lost the memory of that conversation I had with them about…? No, a piece of my heart tells me to reminisce in it. I pray to the Muses that there was a point in letting my bare heart be exposed to them.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…Huh?!” Syo slammed a hand on the clothed table, complete with a mouth stuffed full of food, now being harshly swallowed in order to get an exasperated noise out in the form of broken anger. “You’re tellin’ me that you’ve been holdin’ out on hangin’ with us ‘cause o’ your stupid teacher?!” He crudely gulped down a sip of some kind of fruit drink.</p><p class="p1">“That is exactly what Aijima said.” Tokiya sighed, then signed for the shortest member to sit down. “…And, it is not polite to voice strong opinions about someone else’s upperclassman.”</p><p class="p1">The pink-accented idol huffed and slumped in his chair, as if a child in the midst of a tantrum.</p><p class="p1">Ren laughed in his usual smug, flirtatious hum. “I see you were only ‘busy’, huh? What did you do, hm~?”</p><p class="p1">“Stop.” Masato knocked on his childhood friend’s shoulder without needing to make eye contact with the sunset-haired saxophonist. “It is Aijima’s business and his business only.”</p><p class="p1">“Besides,” The twilight-drenched idol sipped daintily from his ceramic cup, “He certainly is not shameless as you are, Jinguuji.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m sure none of it was his choice, though.” The violinist rolled his eyes, as if he was the one in my place. I was nearly unable to hold in laughter.</p><p class="p1">“I”m sure he’s fine!” Otoya grinned, with the room brightening with sunrise. “Besides, even though he can be tough on you, I’m sure he cares!”</p><p class="p1">“One can only hope!” Natsuki removed his spectacles to wipe the steam from his tea away from the lenses, earning a fragment in time where the whole room seemed to quiet. He was blissfully unaware of the havoc his decamped Gemini Syndrome twin caused, however.</p><p class="p1">“At least he’s a good-looking advisor.” Ren snickered. “I’m almost jealous you get to work with him everyday.”</p><p class="p1">“Ren, stop.” Both Tokyo and Masato shot bullet-like stares in the rather explicit member’s direction.</p><p class="p1">The former shrugged, unmoving, despite the significant amount of judgement piercing his slightly tanned skin. “I’m not wrong, though. Right, Cesshi?”</p><p class="p1">“He is rather attractive,” I admitted, unaware of what I stated at the time of dinner, “…but that does not make it any easier to work with him.”</p><p class="p1">Another silence had placed heavy weight on my chest, somewhat forcing me to continue with whatever train of thought I had conjured from the tip of my tongue, just resting at the back of my throat.</p><p class="p1">“Scarcely is he ever kind to me, but when he is…” I gulped and placed a fanned hand onto my left breast, feeling the pulse as it steadily rises, feeling a certain heat spill from my face to the back of my neck, rendering my loose shirt a poor ventilation to combat the radiator that ran along the building.</p><p class="p1">“…Something obscures my conscience.” I sighed. “I can feel his voice from deep within, and it refuses to leave.” <em>When I felt it first occur—every individual time it replayed in my head—it was as if I was attempting to grasp onto a morsel of what positive aura I could find, but as the numbers of genuinely amiable remarks increased…</em></p><p class="p1">“…Every time he would speak to me, it reverberates, and I find it hard to think about anything else.”<em> It was</em> <em>exactly identical to the intense palpitation I would often feel whenever Haruka was nearby. </em>…However, I never once entertained the thought of expressing this to the rest of Starish. They know how I feel about our beloved composer—if love for her was the reason that blood runs through my veins, is love for <em>him</em> the reason my blood refuses to run cold? Is it why I refuse to be swayed by the enchanting, yet frozen-hearted lies and instead wish to seek further into his glaciated heart? Is it why I wish so dearly to witness one genuine laugh fall from his indigo lips?</p><p class="p1">…As much as it feels as if the muscle under my skin was burning out of resent, there was a chill that ran through my inner wrists, as if to comfort and confront me about who I—without fault—would love to the end of this world’s lifespan, all through the last day. Perhaps if what I felt towards either of them were strong enough, the Muses would allow even death to keep us together.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…Say it again.” He locked onto me, nearly closing the distance between us completely. A near-Celestine, rotten blue became born as the atmosphere dampened and dripped along the walls of our shared compound.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“C…” A hand caught hold of my throat. It should not be this onerous to speak the name of whom I shared a living space, yet it was. A part of me wishes to land a hit against his stomach, yet… despite it being out of my nature, I find it hard to restrain myself.</p><p class="p1">“Camus.” I choked out; the signature East Cape of my mentor returning.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Almost as if he was aghast by how I addressed him, he backed up against the wall opposing the one I was cornered in, rummaging his hand through his hair—this time as if he was looking for something hidden within his platinum locks, fervently grappling segments at a time.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Although his color has returned to its pure, lustrous shimmer, the excessive pressure refused to let up from the entrance of our living space—evident that it was constricting us both. I wonder if he conjointly felt a mallet hammering against his birdcage… A part of me expected so. Even with such a repressing force upon us joint, I… I wished to seek the truth.</p><p class="p1">“Camus?” I asked, sauntering towards him with a hand, meekly outstretched. “That face does not match you.” <em>Ah, no!</em> “Th—That was not what I had intended to say! I—“</p><p class="p1">“‘Doesn’t match’?” He asked, finally raising his head to notice my presence. A solemn, almost heartbroken glint in his eye entrapped me—I was on the brink of recognizing my own reflection within those orbs of his; diamonds.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I meant…” I glanced away. “I have seen that expression on the others, but never have I seen it on you. I dislike it, <em>Camus.</em> It feels unfamiliar. A more regal look fits you better.”</p><p class="p1">“‘Regal’…” He repeated back in simile. “Oh, Queen…”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“It pains me to see an unhappy look upon your face. It always does.” My elongated hand protracted to rub against his left shoulder, which met with a harsh slap of refusal to the inside of my wrist. The formerly-cold fingers of his zapped the warm blood within my stream, further warming it rather than freezing it. It was a desperate yell for help, opposing the supposed disdain for my frivolous action out of concern—had it been the latter, my blood would have hardened into a gelid line of ice, freezing also my heart.</p><p class="p1">“Camus—“</p><p class="p1">“…out…” An abysmally deep grumble fled from his throat, that of which I could only estimate was the product of the excruciatingly heavy air around us. His hands shook and were silvery from the intense temperature fluctuations, coupled with our constantly close range of one another.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">His eyes, however, almost glowed a bright crimson. Red could be a shade for passion, love, or hatred—and I could not exactly be aware of which it was. I wanted to block out the factor of negativity from our already thin wire of mutual respect—however, as I thought into it, it might have been the most appropriate emotion to direct towards me.</p><p class="p1">How immature of me to immediately hope that we shared a similar feeling between the two of us. There we both stood, a spotlight over two separate bodies--the ground rippled beneath, severing the two lights apart. I, once again, gripped at my jacket.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Camus…?” What if I was the desperate one, and not him? I wanted him to tell me everything—I can see his expression, so why was there a barrier parting us? Why is it that I cannot translate his visible emotion into words I can understand? Was there a reason? If there was, I could not find it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Get out.” The ruby in his eyes crawled up my back and scratched the inside of the epidermis covering whatever hidden feeling I held within.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Wha—“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Leave me alone—get out!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I made no hesitation to, however disorganized and perplexed I was.</p><p class="p1"> <em>Do you truly mean to say that </em> <b> <em>I </em> </b> <em>was the one to leave, even though</em> <b> <em> you </em> </b> <em>came home late, and ordered </em> <b> <em>me</em> </b> <em> to say </em> <b> <em>your </em> </b> <em>name?</em></p><p class="p1">I fiddled with the knob with a trembling hand—quivering enough to possibly break the door down—and fled the scene, leaving my own spotlight behind for the unreadable man to leer at.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A portion of me was overjoyed with the feeling of freedom from that room, but another portion of me pulled against the current. I had no notion or ability to comprehend my advisor’s supposedly unmasked face, along with the unbearable gravity that tore at the walls of the room; what if everything from the past two moons had been for nought? Would he dare to lie to me—someone he lives with? Someone that once had the linked feeling of mutual disdain? Someone he had advised and placed his own peacoat upon when he often slept at the dinner table? Someone he had guided with a cold and distant—yet gentle and soft—hand of expertise and clairvoyance?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Was it really worth throwing that away…?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Yes, perhaps it was my own fault. I had run when I should have stayed behind… but the atmosphere was what squandered my sense of intuition and instead had unlocked the door of instinct.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I could not tell where I was running to. A blur had coated my eyes. My nose burned. Grass covered the ground and the bottom of my socks—I had no time to put on shoes if I were to survive. I required to leave that plane.</p><p class="p1">I had left behind everything there, even to the point of leaving my heart in place of where I was. I only hope that it does not fall through the cracks that separated the room in half.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I was… terrified. Of course, fear is a natural emotion to feel if in an unfamiliar or dangerous situation—however, a voice from within that shivering birdcage repeatedly oscillated with every step I took, increasing my want to return home. I deeply regretted my instinctual decision to leave, but only when I had thought it too late. I ventured out too far out of the Agency gardens and lost myself in the city landscape, but I could not find the ability to stop running.</p><p class="p1">The fading orange hid behind the forest of skyscrapers, being overtaken with magnificent shades of blue and purple. By this point, bright lights of varying size and color were sprinkled throughout the night canvas, creating a minuscule amount of light for me to follow once the city road had blended cleanly with a small barrage of foliage. Was I in the forest again? Was this another foil made by the city to constitute the illusion of a wooded area? It hardly mattered—I could barely even feel the rough smoothness of the concrete sidewalks competing with my stinging ankles.</p><p class="p1">How I was able to run this far was a wonder, even to me—with the disadvantage of having nothing to cover my steps against the harsh conditions, and the usual lack of stamina. What had allowed me for such a lengthy sprint through the city? I suppose that it all would have to point back to fear.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Confusion was another water droplet down the iceberg. Distracting myself with pointless thoughts as I ran was a rather effective way to keep from focusing on the pain on my legs, or the sudden fire that had erupted within my lungs.</p><p class="p1">What was the reason behind my mentor’s abrupt change in demeanor? What was the reason he began to call me by my first name? Why could he not have told me what was truly eating at his heart? Was there a secret he refused to tell me? Most likely. Then why would he spontaneously begin to shift how he acted towards me? Would that not cause for more suspicion? And—asking for an underclassman to call your name is rather intimate, is it not? A rather personal change in habit… even if I did become used to it, there would still be a fragment that refuses to say it. ‘Say it again’… Why does that particular demand stay within me…? How embarrassing.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A step into an uncharted territory was the perfect place to release my held breath. I hoped that he would not find me—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Cecil!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">—but, I suppose that would be much too easy on me. After all, I ordered a challenge, had I not…?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">As soon as I once more began my own chase to follow an unseen path, a hand pulled back my own, forcing me to turn towards the owner of the familiar voice. Though twilight dribbled down, encasing their face and most of their features, their expression was clearer than the sky without any clouds blocking the bright blue of broad daylight. Had they pulled me back with a slightly stronger force, I would have most likely found a home in their arms, but I attempted to shake the thought off.</p><p class="p1">His hand gripped my wrist. The warm palm encased me with longing, but his fingers froze my bone into steel. A soft panting emphasized his placid, yet melancholy face—it rivaled my harsh gasping for air and fuzzy vision.</p><p class="p1">His eyes resembled that of frozen stalagmites, just beginning to thaw. He wanted to say something, but I could not find what. His voice was bound by thorns from a blue rose that he, himself, had grown, yet forgot to water on a daily basis.</p><p class="p1">He turned his head, avoiding looking at me directly. Sweat dazzled the perfect complexion of his face, also drizzling onto parts of his hair—they would evaporate quickly with the crisp air, however.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Ca…mus…?” Something grappled a hold of my own throat, as well. Perhaps it was the vines from his rose, attempting to drag me in.</p><p class="p1">A powerful cyan coalesced with stardust, droplets of his sweat, and my tears I had not felt fall, to cast upon the sky a shooting star. Nothing had been said. Nothing had been acted. Yet, was it fate that the both of us could feel a conjoined pulse? A beat we could both agree on?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Entangled into the feeling, I felt a tug on my hand to enrapture me into his grip further—my nose was pressed along the wall of his neck. I could feel his pulse, with the downbeat of every jounce mirroring mine.</p><p class="p1">A second hand reached around my head to bury itself within the bush of my hair.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“We’re going home.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I surrendered to the sound of his internal clock, as if a countdown—what seconds I have left forced me to follow my instincts. I wrapped around my unoccupied arm, feeling as if I was stained with the alluring sin of temptation, along with a looming, dreadful intimacy—nothing short of taboo.</p><p class="p1">I understand that we are not allowed to outwardly and publicly express emotions of love towards anyone within the agency walls—but I am quite sure that it was a warning intended for us idols so as to not overwhelm our lovely composer. I wondered if that warning still stood when it comes betwixt the idols, as well.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…However, even the warnings of the Agency stood against the back of my mind, in place of the overseeing eyes of the public. Even if he did not split the feeling with me, unsuspecting others who would peer at our movements could misinterpret information quite heavily.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I suppose I should not negate the content I harbor from within his arms, however. Any danger we could face was a small portion away from matching the impact of a kind hand from someone I formerly could not even dare to think about being amiable. My only question resides deep within my head—what permitted the sudden change, even from the beginning of this situation?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Affirmative.” I whispered, barely holding back my string of confusion. It can wait.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry.” My advisor sighed, “Nothing turned out how it was supposed to.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I am… aware.” I responded, parting from his body a slight distance to gaze at his new expression that was somewhat mismatched from his current tone of voice. “I did not wish to leave you. I could have offered assistance…”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry.” He repeated, his mien fitting better. “This must’ve been extremely complicated for you. I never intended for this.” His physical presence had parted from mine, littering icy leftovers where his body had previously found a home.</p><p class="p1">“Let’s go. Someone might catch us here.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I nodded. Truthfully, I was quite relieved that he came to retrieve me; I was wholeheartedly unaware of my current location. I wondered how he found me here, but that hardly matters. At least I now had company to derail the physical turmoil and emotional gymnastics that was yet prevalent.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…As soon as he pirouetted to walk alongside me back to our rooms, however, he subtly tugged the hood of my parka to pull me relatively close.</p><p class="p1">“You’re lucky I was able to catch you, this time.” He turned his head opposite from me. “Try not to separate from me.”</p><p class="p1">I could feel his milky blue invading the inner lining of my fingertips and the tip of my nose—paired with his presence in my hair and on my right wrist. My spring green had also forced his blue to cede in some locations—a clump in his faded hazel vibrissa and a patch in the nape of his neck; both splatters resembling dripping liquid. I embarrassedly wiped my eyes and refused to speak to him the walk back.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">. . .</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Ah…” I verbalized a tap on his shoulder for his attention. “What are we, now…?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A minuscule window in time allowed for a short silence. His face contorted into a strange shape as he put down his scarf I hardly realized that he put on. He then sighed out a nearly visible breath.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What I want us to be.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Well… What do you want us to be?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What do <em>you </em>think?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>I… thought I had asked a question to you.</em> “…A mentor and his student?” I asked, unaware that I had such a say in such frivolous acts.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He sighed once more. “Is that what you want?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“It is what I think.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“But is that what you <em>want</em>?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The blue rose’s thorns have begun to loosen around our throats; it was attempting to become a shield, rather than a weapon—and the scent was sweetening.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No.” I confidently pressed out my chest and straightened my back. We’ve been through much, ultimately ending in this pathway that not even I had expected.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Then what do you want us to be?” He pressed forward, once more pinning me against the wall near the entrance door. The atmosphere from only a few ten minutes ago began to lighten as he thinned the space between us. A hand graced the wall, close to my ear.</p><p class="p1">“Something more than that.” I responded, unable to find the words to express how I truly felt. The words I wanted to say were Agnean—a language he would not understand. I so perilously and carelessly attempted to search for phrases and letters that were not there, ending the countdown as he finally closed the space between us, left behind only because of our talkative lips that stalled each time we so much as breathed. A cold, strawberry-flavored breeze cooled my aching throat. I held back a cough as it entered my lungs, sending a chill down my spine.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Camus…?” I called. I could not say for certain if I was quivering from the abruptness of the action, or the action performed. I even could not say if I was surprised at the action, as I felt an interlocking when parted, directly before, given how close we were.</p><p class="p1">What I could say for certain, however, was a sense of delicate passion balancing atop a thawing, sensitive love. Was this absolute? Who is truly to say for sure? What mattered now was the matching key we sang in, and, no matter what difficult, dissonant polyrhythms we would end up having to face, we would rehearse it as many times as we needed. That is what I now know.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“We shouldn’t be doing this.” He sifted through his hair with his open hand.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I know.” I solemnly simpered.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“We’re so different.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I know.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“How did this happen?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I kn—wait.” I laughed. “I am unsure. But are you willing to live through it with me?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’ve been willing for a while, now. I would advise you to not keep me waiting.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I understand. I dislike your irritated personality.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“And I equally hate your brutal honesty.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Being honest is the most important quality someone can have.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Then… how did this happen?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You have already asked that.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Then answer the damn question.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I already have. I said that I do not know. I suppose you fascinate me.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What, do you think I’m an attraction, then?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“As if at a park? No. You know I am not the type to sway to your charms.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What part of me do you even like, then, you brat?” He squinted, “You do understand that you’ve just picked me over that girl, correct?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I felt a pinch of regret, but I decided to follow my heart. So far, I am dearly thankful the Muses have not seemed to punish me. I just hope that this is the right path—because I will never be able to return. I have fallen too far down the dungeon.</p><p class="p1">“I understand.” I chuckled, “There is a certain aura around you that I seem to be attracted to.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…You fool. You don’t even know, do you?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">...I hope I gave an adequate smile before I shared another kiss with Camus.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>talkin refrigerator made poor catboy cri</p><p>I'm sorry if this fic really changes mood a lot. I wanted to make it a serious fic, but not be exactly too angsty bc I write that a lot...</p><p>Song to listen to: WHITE GRAVITY or NIGHT DREAM.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Camus: Poison Kiss.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Camus accidentally feels something strange.</p><p>With love comes passion, but he mistakes that for something else and nearly goes overboard.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“Hey.” I called to Cecil, who was curled up onto the couch with my blanket over his knees, “I want to tell you something.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…That was less threatening in my head.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes?” The prince responded, turning his head my way, vaguely. <em>Thank the Queen his literary conceivability was lacking quite a bit.</em> I couldn’t tell what he was watching on the television, but I know it was some kind of movie.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Do you remember that day you saw me outside the restaurant, in the city?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Oh!” He exclaimed, “That day in September? Yes, why?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Well,” I began, as if about to bestow upon him some mighty philosophy that would shake the balance of the Earth as we know it. I’m not sure if what I was planning to say would upset the already-measly tilt of the spinning of the axis, but that’s not up to me to decide, I suppose. It did offset my nerves, however.</p><p class="p1">Though we’ve been secretly deemed a forbidden dyad for at least a month, now, nothing really has changed, besides the occasional, new method of showing affection that—somehow--he always seems to know exactly when we, in tandem, want to share it. Surprising him had become increasingly difficult, but I guess that, too, it part of the challenge that I was unsure if he still held within him. I was very aware of it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That time, when I walked with you back home…” I heard a quieted, voiced sigh leave the prince’s mouth as I took the the time to carefully plant words that seemed a couple of notches less from being my usual tone. I guess now that he’s in my hands, I should care what his feelings are—I only hope I better my skill to the point where it becomes habit.</p><p class="p1">“Though it might’ve seemed like I cared about you at the time, don’t pride yourself on it.” I closed my eyes, reluctant to meet his expression. “I only rushed you out of the cold because I was afraid of what your big mouth had to say. I couldn’t risk it.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I opened my eyes, only for Cecil to be completely turned to me, his face resembled something of confusion, I’d guess?</p><p class="p1">“That was gesture was made to look caring?” He genuinely laughed, not hiding any ounce of how he felt. Even though I could practically touch the emotion he outwardly burst, I couldn’t even infer if he was mocking me, or if it was amusement. I splayed my hand out over my nose to attempt to hide my face.</p><p class="p1">“I had figured that you had not meant for an act of affection. You would never had done such a thing in that time frame!” He beamed, the sun itself unable to compete; a visible red coating his cheeks, “However, I am quite ecstatic that you have grown in expressing emotion. You do not have to try for me, however. Please relax.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Oh. “I see.” I bit my lip from under my hand that I then removed from my face. “But you do know that I’m only doing what I feel is the right thing, correct?” I attempted a shrug, looking as if I was trying as much as Kotobuki would in appearing serious. <em>It would be easy if he just put down those maracas for a single second.</em></p><p class="p1">“There are some things I can feel are forced.” Cecil buried his face in the cyan blanket. “It should not feel unnatural. I understand that others have different ways to show the emotions in their hearts.” He closed his eyes against the soft fabric and hummed. “Whether they believe or not, the Muses will always guide them to follow their ideal path. That is what I have faith in.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I scoffed, feeling a strange, lime green ambition caress my cheeks. It took my right hand, leading me to the pile of insolence that sat on the couch, who was now visibly watching a romance movie I had seen only once. I leaned against the couch, the only thing parting from my straight figure—fingers, caught ruffling the hair of my underclassman.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Camus?” A quiet laughter spilled out the side of his lips. “Would you like to watch with me?”</p><p class="p1">“It couldn’t hurt to.” I circled around the back of the couch to sit next to him, who immediately careened into me; I instinctively wrapped an arm around him. I often wondered what we were doing in between these three months, but there’re definitely worse things to worry about.</p><p class="p1">“—But the pacing is absolutely horrible.”</p><p class="p1">“It is easy to understand for me.” He looked up, almost sounding hurt.</p><p class="p1">“At least.” I chuckled, rolling my eyes.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I guess he, too, couldn’t focus on the movie. I figured, with the unnecessary fidgeting he was doing—he seemed uncomfortable in my grasp. Though, as I attempted to raise my arm to free him, his own palm materialized from underneath the blanket to keep it there.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Cecil,” I called.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">That seemed to be enough of an indicator for him to say something, melding into my side as he let out a whine. “I have been thinking…” He paused, but found it in him to keep going; “What will we do once we receive an invitation to be interviewed, again?”</p><p class="p1">“What do you mean?” I asked, thinking it was obvious. “Just do the usual.”</p><p class="p1">“Will I have to call you what I always have been?”</p><p class="p1">“I…” <em>Huh.</em> “I guess, yes.”</p><p class="p1">“I do not want to.”</p><p class="p1">“Business is business.”</p><p class="p1">“Do we have to act like none of this has happened?”</p><p class="p1">“Of course.”</p><p class="p1">“But… now I will no longer be forced to lie about what it is like to live with you.” He soothingly sighed, almost like a quiet call from a cat. I felt his face press into my shoulder, hiding it from the weight of the world.</p><p class="p1">“Is it really that much better for you, now that… we’re…?”</p><p class="p1">“‘We are’ what?”</p><p class="p1">“Do I have to spell it out?”</p><p class="p1">“You are being unclear.”</p><p class="p1">I sighed, begging to the Queen that he wouldn’t hear my heartbeat. “—That we’re like this.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Cecil jumped up, raising his posture and forcing my hand to retract. Despite the buzzing in my left arm, never once did I want to release him. Even if I have to let the air I breathe know, I’ll tell them<em>—he’s mine.</em></p><p class="p1">“Of course!” He grinned; obvious that his bright green showed through, though now the baby blue of my own had smeared in some locations. “I never would want this to be taken away…”</p><p class="p1">“It won’t be.” I assured, “It’s just an interview. We’ll be alright. Just do what you’ve always been.”</p><p class="p1">“What if I mislabel you on accident?”</p><p class="p1">“Just keep going.”</p><p class="p1">“But—“</p><p class="p1">“What’re you so scared about? I thought you were used it.”</p><p class="p1">“I despise lying.” He pouted, leaning into the back of the couch. “You know this, do you not? Especially since we have come so far, only to reverse it?”</p><p class="p1">“But we’re acting. You don’t think I get annoyed at times? Besides—“ I brushed the side of his jaw opposite of me to turn it my way. “When we come back, it’ll all be over.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">His face contorted into an unusual mix of concern and expectance. “Will the others not be suspicious?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> <em>Shit.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“One can only hope.” I sighed, “Though, the rest of Quartet Night knows what I think of you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Starish knows how I do to you, as well.” He replied—a surprised look appearing on both of our faces, simultaneously.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Oh, well. That goes our chance to not attract attention, I suppose.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">After a brief silence—as if we were waiting for the entirety of our respective groups to burst in at any moment—we shared a laugh. It felt liberating to let out a genuine, dynamic noise of approval, if I were to be honest. I can’t remember the last time I let out a cackle.</p><p class="p1">“Well, I guess we can figure that out later.” I slid a hand to the side of Cecil’s neck, as if I was holding an injured bird. His warm skin soothed my freezing hand; I can only guess it was the same for him as he leaned into me. His pulse had an anomaly as my thumb rubbed against his jaw.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Mm.” He crooned, aiming an unintentionally seductive look in my direction. It emphasized how truly verboten we were—I’m sure he hasn’t realized it, however.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Camus?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Your laugh is beautiful…”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Cecil…”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I launched forward to kiss him, wanting to block off our thoughts—though, it most likely made it easier to read me.</p><p class="p1"> <em>No, you’re the beautiful one—exotic, alluring… if you weren’t so innocent, I’d have already deemed you an incubus. Your unaware, carefree spirit makes you so approachable, but I want to keep you all for myself. I want you to keep your eyes on me—don’t you dare look at that girl.</em></p><p class="p1">
  <em>Your emerald eyes a relic in the sand, the bronze shimmer of your fair skin a chalice to drink from… You ensorcell me with your mystical aura—everything you say is like a symphony falling from your lips...</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Say my name… </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Say my name. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Hold me. Tell me I’m yours. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Hold my shivering body. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>I don’t want to ever let you go. Don’t you dare leave me. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Please. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Please… </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>I need you.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>I want to feel your hand enter my skin.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>I want you to destroy this husk.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Destroy this key signature. Break the metronome. Slur the rhythm.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Break me—</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Wait, no! No… Stop. I don’t want this. I wanted<em> him</em>, not the poison that comes with it. At this rate, my fingers will become tipped with black… I don’t want to touch him with sullied skin.</p><p class="p1"> <em>The blue rose that wrapped around my esophagus had become blotted with black ink.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Camus?” Cecil snapped me back into reality, holding my face with both of his hands. “Why are you unhappy?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">An icicle shot through my heart. His voice lowered into a whispered whimper as his hands drained the cold from my face.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m not.” I lie. My whole body was shaking. “I’m just thinking…”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“About what?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It was one kiss. One kiss. There’s not an inch of dishabille upon his face, his arms, his collar… A shaky sigh escaped my mouth.</p><p class="p1">“You.” I felt embarrassed—ashamed. I felt as if someone splashed a piping hot, fresh cup of tea in my face.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You are?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I nod, and attempt to hide my face in my hair. “We really should not be doing this…”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Do you not want us to do this?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That’s not what I meant.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I… I do not understand.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Then… You don’t need to.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Cecil took his hands down from my face, leaving a warm imprint on my cheeks. He then embraced me—both warm and cold. It wasn’t lukewarm; no. Two different temperatures mix within me, terrifying me that my heart would once again freeze, only to dribble down with melting emotion.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I want to.” He whispered, burying himself within my chest. “You are the only one—after I met Haruka—that I feel intense emotion towards.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">My blood boiled. I nearly felt numb within my arms.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Then, stop talking about her.” I grumbled. “Do you prefer me, or her?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Is that not obvious?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Clearly not, if I have to ask.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Then I suppose I should make it more obvious, from now on.” He took a deep breath and exhaled a large sigh of content, tickling my collarbone. His grip around my waist tightened as he rested his brow bone on my shoulder, now completely between my lap.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“How’re you going to do that?” I found myself wrapping my own arms around his rather toned body.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I was met with silence after he hummed mischievously, but I was willing to be patient—after all, the only reason we’re far enough into this road already was because we both were patient with one another. Our first meeting was not even close to being perfect, and our time together was even more excruciating to tolerate… now look at us, comfortably being wound around each others’ fingers.</p><p class="p1">I could smell the scent of an elegant rose, mixed with a hint of sweat and the December air. He nuzzled into my shoulder as if an animal seeking affection.</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p1">“I will not let you forget.” He finally purred, “Do you understand?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">His sudden question intimidated me. “No? Do tell.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He looked up to look at me; his eyes shimmered with a crystalline film, enticing me once more. He grinned.</p><p class="p1">“I love you, Camus.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…The last frozen cluster of ice melted, and the pale hand finally let go of the ravine in my chest, replacing it with tanned fingers that shut the open skin closed.</p><p class="p1">The blue rose further crept into a withering black as the thorns around my voice box began to crumble. The shade charred, as if set on fire with the beaming smile Cecil had aimed toward me. Each petal fell, dissipating as it seared on the foreign idol’s face, giving his cinnabar cheeks a sparkling glitter—poison reflected off of him, repelling it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Do you?” I asked, a little surprised.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I dislike lying.” He sunk into my embrace, his voice fading out, as if tired.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I wouldn’t doubt it, he often took time by himself to work out choreography after the rehearsal with our combined groups, and it just so happened that the routine for “WHITE GRAVITY” was extremely draining for him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You don’t need to repeat yourself.” I was secretly relieved that he had felt the need to reestablish his signature trait, even though I would scoff.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You seemed unsure.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> <em> I was.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Did I?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes. I was attempting to assure you that I—“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes, yes, congratulations. Now I know you love me.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“How cold!” He laughed, seemingly waking up from his dreary state, but never parting from me. The scent of roses overpowered the smell of anything else, the poison from it currently seeming to be sweetening the flower, rather than tainting it bitterly.</p><p class="p1">“Do you not love me, as well?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A murmur in my heart froze me for a moment—seemingly an opposite feeling from when someone is restricted from moving under frigid circumstances. I felt my grip tighten on my underclassman.</p><p class="p1">“Believe what you want.” I suppose he was a little lacking when it comes to inference, so I added—“I don’t need to lie to you, anymore.”—and pecked his forehead.</p><p class="p1">I heard a breath of content, and a further lean into my chest—more than I would expect was possible. I felt his hands let up the grip that I hadn’t realized that they’ve held.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Then I will think what I will.” He whispered.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Please do.” A weight had been lifted from my chest, even though he hadn’t moved—in fact, I’m quite glad that he didn’t leave from my side.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">. . .</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…Before I’d realized it, the movie had ended, and Cecil had dozed off, his head and torso still visibly mounted on my own body. That isn’t to say that I haven’t—but I was fortunate enough to catch myself before any more time had been wasted. We both had important meetings the next day, and neither of us had made dinner for that night.</p><p class="p1">Despite so, I couldn’t bear to wake him up. He truly was still like a tiny, domesticated feline. His nearly inaudible breaths and minuscule movement resembling that of a sluggish animal had accentuated his catlike demeanor, prompting me to habitually stroke his head.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I’m unsure how much longer we can keep our relationship a secret. Even if neither of us had opened our mouths, Shining always had a way to figure out everything that hid within his walls. Eventually, it would all be released to the public, either by a slip of a word, or our seemingly interesting personas we have around one another.</p><p class="p1">That didn’t matter, however. At least, that’s what I had previously thought.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The rose that grew around my neck was no longer entangled with my vocal chords, no longer drenching me in venin every moment I spoke a word that felt unnatural and unfamiliar. For some reason, I had a sneaking suspicion that Cecil had also felt the same thing around his own throat, but I was unsure if it was his own doing, or if it was my very flower that grappled him.</p><p class="p1">The petals, the thorns… they were all gone, but, I couldn’t help detecting them somewhere else… I could feel the presence of the petals on my palm, but I could only hope that none of it would touch him.</p><p class="p1">Because of their disappearance from my person, where I had erstwhile felt—though painful—protection and a filter to shield my thoughts from leaking out the side of my mouth, I now felt a sense of unease and an overabundance of freedom. It just feels strange—like taking off braces for the first time. The liberation simultaneously proceeded to yield an excellence in being able to somewhat label certain emotions to specific words, however, it also included a plethora of unnecessary thoughts that could lead to a spillage of words all over our wooden boards—I didn’t want either of us to have to clean up such a disgraceful mess.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> <em>What will I do with this freedom? Tell him every waking moment what I feel about him? No, that’d be distasteful. Besides, what do I know about how I feel? I’ve never felt this before, and I doubt that he’ll be the last one I… No, I can’t. I can’t think about that. That’s severely unfair—both to him and to me. I can’t see myself without him, but I bet he’ll still feel his rendition of “love” for that girl.</em></p><p class="p1">
  <em>I should be happy, I truly should be. There’s not a chance I’ll let her have him… but, there’s a part of me that—</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Camus?”</p><p class="p1">...I guess none of that matters, right now--nor will it ever.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Ah.” I sighed, a bit startled from his spontaneous awakening. “Cecil? Impeccable timing.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Why? Is there a thing that bothers you?” He wiped his eyes and yawned, though he still had no intentions of parting from me.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I never told you what bothered me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>godcamusyouhornyman</p><p>I got so embarrassed writing this chapter tbfh...</p><p>it was supposed to be lighthearted, but then my notes (not the whole story but the outline) stopped at camus and cecil's convo at the beginning so i winged it hhhhhh</p><p>I'm so sorry if you felt strange reading this and/or got secondhand embarrassment from my overly romantic writing style--</p><p>Song to listen to: Non-Fiction, ironically.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Camus: Sunshine. (Epilogue)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A few more months pass and they turn from a closed off couple to a full on snotrocket of a mess.</p><p>Camus, what the jesus god.</p><p>Cecil, as usual, is unaware of literally everything and knows everything at the same time. How.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“Ahh!” A sigh of relief left his lips. “Another interview finished!”</p><p class="p1">“Was it that difficult to keep up?” I asked, pulling on the flaps of his dress jacket occasionally to keep him from straying too far off the sidewalk.</p><p class="p1">“No,” He pouted, “but I have a distaste for keeping secrets.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, as long as we keep this up, no one will notice.”</p><p class="p1">“I often wonder if there is a merit to holding it in for so long…”</p><p class="p1">“At least we won’t get kicked out of the Agency.”</p><p class="p1">“I suppose…”</p><p class="p1">I chuckled. “Though, I’m sure everyone knows, already.”</p><p class="p1">“We have both made it nearly impossible to be oblivious to what has been going in between us.”</p><p class="p1">“Mm.”</p><p class="p1">“If everyone else knows, there is not a reason as to why Shining would not.”</p><p class="p1">“Mm.”</p><p class="p1">“If he had known for so long, however, would he have let us stay?”</p><p class="p1">“Mm.”</p><p class="p1">“Camus?”</p><p class="p1">“Mm?”</p><p class="p1">“Are you listening?”</p><p class="p1">“Mhm.”</p><p class="p1">“Are you sure?”</p><p class="p1">“Mhm.”</p><p class="p1">“Could you please answer me?”</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p1">As he tugged at my sleeve, I pushed open a door to the restaurant I came out of to take Cecil home half a year ago. The smell overwhelmed us both, the scent of various flowers, Asian cuisine, and sour desserts filling us before we even had the chance to sit down.</p><p class="p1">I was nearly blacked out as the waitress at the counter bowed—I could hardly hear her over the noise of the crowd, and how aloof I was.</p><p class="p1">“Salutations!” She smiled, visibly unable to hold in her excitement.</p><p class="p1">“Good evening.” I responded, deeming this as a pointless greeting to a woman I would no longer see after this, but I must keep up the image.</p><p class="p1">“A table for two?” She asked, to which I nodded.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">She led us to a spot in the back of the establishment, almost exactly in the same spot I sat in for that first interview. Whereas it looked as if I had booked a table, I was quite unaware of why she was taking us this far—perhaps it was because she knew us both. I scoffed quietly as we sat down.</p><p class="p1">She handed us two menus, and left us after I had ordered green tea, and Cecil ordered a lemonade.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Camus?” The idol across from me called, looking rather uncomfortable. “Why have you not been answering me?”</p><p class="p1">“What? Not even a ‘thank you’?” I teased, ceasing laughter as soon as his body seemed to slump. Very quondam did he show off a nervous demeanor, even in public situations. I took off my gloves and laid my left hand on the table with my palm up.</p><p class="p1">“Sorry.” I feigned annoyance, but I suppose hiding emotions when I wasn’t acting was rather difficult, huh? “I wanted to surprise you. I guess I did it in the wrong way.”</p><p class="p1">“You scare me when you’re silent.” He pouted, he silently complied as he attempted to place his right hand on top of mine, but quickly reversed and gently stationed his own left hand, instead. For a quick, fleeting juncture in time, both of our belongings clinked like glasses filled with wine.</p><p class="p1">“I apologized, didn’t I?” I lovingly rolled my eyes. “Now, look at the menu and see what you want to eat.”</p><p class="p1">He nodded and picked up the laminated pamphlet. “Woah!” He exclaimed, “Everything is so expensive… I don’t think I should be here...”</p><p class="p1">“Nonsense. I’ll be paying.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, are you sure? I also have brought my wallet…”</p><p class="p1">“It’s fine, Cecil.”</p><p class="p1">“Alright…”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…As we waited for our orders to arrive at our private table, we swayed to the beat of the song we could hear rather clearly, due to there being no crowd around us. We have heard some anomalous noise emanate from the crowd the second we appeared, but no one has come to corner us, which I was ecstatic about. Perhaps the public really did have a decent moral compass, or they were too stunned to approach us.</p><p class="p1">Cecil seemed to ease up in the velvet booth, his expression and body now less stiff than before. He often sheepishly clapped to the beat of the songs that played above us, simultaneously humming at times.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>You’re adorable.</em> I attempted to say, but the one of the waiters were in our vicinity.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Wah!” Cecil clapped as the plates clanged against our clothed table. “Thank you very much!”</p><p class="p1">“Thank you.” I gratuitously bowed my head.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The waiter bowed and fled, clearly red-faced.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">We both took in the scent of our meals simultaneously—a sweet luster grew from my side of the table, while a spicy, citrus-like sparkle came from the opposite side.</p><p class="p1">“Thank you for the food!” My former underclassman grinned, hands still stuck together in a prayer-adjacent pose.</p><p class="p1">“Let’s eat.” I responded, already unfurling the utensils from the fabric napkin that came with our meal.</p><p class="p1">“Yes!” He peeled his hands apart to clasp them around the glass cup that held his fruit drink to drink from it, securely. I struggled to hold in laughter.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…Camus?” Cecil began, messing with the last bite of his berry tart, “Do you want to try this?”</p><p class="p1">I peered over, examining it. “Why? Do you not like it?”</p><p class="p1">“Of course I like it!” He assured, sticking the fork into the slice as if I had complied. I didn’t exactly deny the offer, don’t get me wrong… but a fair treat deserves a fair trade.</p><p class="p1">“Then take a piece of my mousse.” I ushered, also impaling a portion of my own dessert and placing it over his plate.</p><p class="p1">“Thank you! But… is ‘moose’ not an animal?”</p><p class="p1">I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s a different spelling, you fool.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh! What is it, then?”</p><p class="p1">“Try it and find out.”</p><p class="p1">“Alright! But, not until you try this! Bring your plate closer.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">As he lifted the small fraction of the leftover to expect a ceramic, flat dish to be moved in his direction, I bit the last fragment straight off of the fork.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“C—Ca—!” He attempted to call out, but I had outstretched my hand to place my index finger on his lips.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Sorry.” I mischievously chuckled. “I couldn’t wait.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You have more patience than I! What if someone saw us?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No one did, I assure you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“But—!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Now, now. Eat the mousse and let’s get going. Unless you want me to eat it for you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I heard a huff leave his body as I stood to turn in cash to the counter at the front, with Cecil quickly gaining from behind.</p><p class="p1">As I finished paying, I grasped the younger idol’s hand and locked it with my own.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Camus!” He called. “A-ah, I—I meant—“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Let’s go home, Cecil.” As I walked towards the entrance doors, I lifted my left hand, a ring glinting with the light of the crystal chandeliers. I made sure to exaggerate. Secret or not, if it hardly mattered which it was, I wanted the entirety of the world to know that he was mine. I’ve waited for far too long.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">. . .</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Camus,” Cecil thundered towards me as we managed to set down our belongings by the door, gripping at my shirt, “why did you do that? We will be in a lot of trouble!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I pried his hands off of my now-wrinkled button-up and pecked the top of his head.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Trust me.” I attempted a smirk—albeit a bit sloppily.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I truly do, but—“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m feeling a bit impatient, today.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I can tell that.” He crossed his arms. “Is it the interview?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I sighed, pulling my bangs back. “I’m tired. This is the one thing I can no longer lie about. I’m usually able to handle it, but… I’m done, Cecil.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Camus…” He stepped backwards with one foot, but reversed his action quickly, darting his eyes from the floor, then back to me. The emerald in his eyes shimmered with a slightly milky film, turning it almost peridot in color.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I cupped his face with my right hand—I didn’t allow for the coldness of the ring to ever touch him—and gave him a kiss.</p><p class="p1">“I love you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I love you, too…” He mumbled back, a pinkish glow rising to his cheeks.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“At least we have the rest of the day to relax.” I hummed, “Let’s get changed out of this.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Alright!” His expression bounded from discomfort to content.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…As Cecil laid beside me on my sheets, reading an old script I let him borrow to assist in challenging his knowledge of the Japanese language, both of our phones erupted in a barrage of buzzes and the symphony of ringtones—mine was set to an instrumental variation of “Northwind and Sunshine” as the adjacent idol’s was set to the chorus of “Code T.V.U.” as all three of the singers in that cross unit had agreed to setting it. I was surprised that he still had it set, if I were to be completely honest. It’s been a couple of years, at this point.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Camus?” He closed the script with his thumb holding the page he was on, “Should we answer them?”</p><p class="p1">“Let it die down, or turn your phone on silent if it bothers you.”</p><p class="p1">“It is occurring to your phone, as well.”</p><p class="p1">“Would you like me to silence mine?”</p><p class="p1">“No, but…”</p><p class="p1">“Then it’ll be fine.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I instinctively ruffled Cecil’s hair, gently, whilst engulfing myself in a romance novella. He would occasionally wrap a free arm around my waist.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I cannot believe that it is our anniversary.” He sighed, supposedly in a loving tone.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Likewise. Happy Anniversary, Cecil.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“As to you, Camus.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">This past year had been a ride. No, we hadn’t bought the rings from out of a proposal, but… It felt good to show it off. I occasionally enjoy the pride that comes with having something of value, as if a trophy. I know he isn’t one, and I’m overjoyed that he isn’t, but… the ride for both of us to realize our feelings was… not exactly the smoothest. We hated each other at first, with constant arguing and a linked instinct to distance from one another. Now, that isn’t a reason to merit rings as a celebration, but we both wanted a subtle gift to let others know that we’re infatuated with one another. I will never hand him to someone else, and I sincerely hope that he’s the same with me. Who knows—maybe these rings will eventually be a sign of something greater than the label of “boyfriend”. But, for now, I’m glad that the black rose had dissipated, leaving me visible to the world’s harshest emotions. I’m glad he smothered me with his color; his tears, his touch… I’m glad that he’s mine.</p><p class="p1">No longer is my blood running cold, only living for the Silk Queen—no longer is my blood absolute zero. No longer will either of us be alone. No longer am I afraid to say “I love you”.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You shouldn’t be, either. Don’t refrain from saying it only because you’ll be afraid they’ll leave you behind. Say it to make them stay with you—you never know if they’ll need it. I’m fully aware that Cecil wasn’t unloved, but I’m sure he knows that he saved me.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">If you were afraid of being found out, you shouldn’t be with someone in the first place. Be with someone you’d be proud to be with—someone you’d want to show the world. Fight for it. I know that spirit is in you. We both do. Now, I might not know who you are, so I cannot say for certain if I love you or not, but know that Cecil does. Everyone deserves it. Even you, you fool. You have your own song—tempo, rhythm, key signature, time signature… You don’t have to match someone exactly to be compatible with them. Compromise if you must—just know that no relationship is perfect.</p><p class="p1">Your tempo might rush. You might accidentally turn dotted-sixteenth slurs into triplets. You might forget to change your key or your time signature. That’s alright. All you need is practice.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You might be rivals, or complete opposites. You might be the frigid, polar wind. They might be the scorching sun that shines for days on end, without rain. Nothing should change how they feel about you if your love is strong enough. Nothing. Not even an empty white lie, nor a poisonous black rose.</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you enjoyed this ride! </p><p>(Sorry for this one seemingly being short and really rushed--)<br/>I hope you didn't take any of the intense imagery seriously, but at least imagined it. </p><p>Sorry if all of Cecil's dialogue just sounds disgusting and--frankly--really promiscuous. I wanted him to seem unaware that what he was saying had a dirty undertone.</p><p>Also, what I said at the end is what I think, as well--not because I needed a mouthpiece for my musically romantic ramblings, but I also wanted him to tell all of you what he learned. And, yes, because writing like this is emotionally good for me. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for making it to the end.</p><p>Next one is probably ReiAi (AiRei? AiJi? LMFAO EW--) and maybe a Syo/Masato bro fic.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I tried a different format bc I started writing it in my notes like a book and tbfh im sorry if you don't like it. I messed up but I liked it and decided to keep it.</p><p>Also, try to guess how many times the word "heart" is repeated in this entire work, lol. Also “feign” and massive words no one fuckin uses. (Mostly in Cecil's chapters but not limited to lolol)</p><p>Yes, all of the chapters are song titles that pertain to what happen in that particular chapter. This is like—vaguely a song fic but in the most vague way possible lolol.</p><p>Forgive me for any mistakes. I needed to get this out of my head.</p><p>The paragraphs/dialogue is separated by two categories: regular, and very far apart. it indicates how far they are--emotionally and/or physically (also it looks nicer to me? Another also: it’s just how it looks tbfh. I didn’t think copying and pasting from the notes app would separate the paragraphs so much???). The opposite is also true (or indicates a single moment in time that is a flashback).</p><p>This fic reminds me of how much I love small details--props if those small details return later on. A motif, if you will--a variation on a piece.</p><p>alsocanyoutellhowmuchiloveutapriimeanjustlookatmyfuckinusernamelmfaoimutapritrashaf</p><p>I refrained from using "senpai" or "kouhai" bc as a Japanese person I kinda cringe when writing them even though--yes--they are proper and are respectful terms, there's a part of me that hates writing out JP stylized words that can't be exactly translated into English. Hence why Cecil doesn't say Camus's name in the chapters before "Non-Fiction".</p></blockquote></div></div>
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